


something that felt like love

by interstellarbeams



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, First Time, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Light Angst, Literal Sleeping Together, Vague Sexual Situations, mentions of Rufus Carlin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 10:12:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13761921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/interstellarbeams/pseuds/interstellarbeams
Summary: He was a man and she was a woman whose body his gravitated towards, in the night, despite their every precaution to put space between them.





	something that felt like love

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this at like 12:30 last night/this morning so excuse any weird wording, tense changes or extra punctuation. This was also unbeta'd (currently in the market for a new beta if anyone is interested).
> 
> This is probably a lot more dramatic than the prompt called for. *shrugs*
> 
> Title comes from _Kiss Me A Thousand Times_ by RAIGN

**prompt** : I was so sleep-deprived after ~~the night shift~~ time travel that I climbed into bed with you (and you just rolled with it) 

\-----

It's not like they had never done anything like this before. 

On many of their overnight trips, back in time, they had to huddle together for warmth underneath a sky populated with a million tiny, pinpricks of stars or under the rustling, glossy, green-black leaves of a hundred year old oak tree. Huddling under the cover of an old moth-eaten quilt that was packed into the Lifeboat, _just in case_. 

Those nights were awkward sometimes.  
They were friends, they were even _close_ friends but whenever anything remotely romantic happened between them, he acted like nothing had and left her even more confused than before.

\-----

He was a man and she was a woman whose body his gravitated towards, in the night, despite their every precaution to put space between them.

Occasionally, daylight brought a rude awakening and mumbled apologies as he left her and made his way deeper into the woods. Her concerned gaze searching his out when he returns, disheveled and chagrined.

_“Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate.”_

But they weren't married or even in a relationship and that's where the problem really lay. Not in them sleeping together -- yes, _sleeping_ \-- but in their attraction to one another.

If she was the flower, then he was the bee and vice versa. _Who can really say who does the attracting first, anyways?_

Of course, there had been touches here and there, emotional outbursts even kisses but never _this_. This intimacy that can only be found in close quarters, where callused hands meet smooth skin and warm breath sets desires alight. 

They were supposed to meet, _to be_ , although he would argue against fate and she against whatever he said -- opposites attract and all that.

It wasn't supposed to happen like _this_. 

All fumbling hands in the dark -- harsh wool against pale, soft skin and moonshine breath against parted lips -- hands that were meant to caress, not claim but she gives into it, into _him_. Anything to distract from her aching loneliness and frustrated anger at a life that has spun out of control.

He's heartbroken _still_ and lonely too but not because of her -- she’s comfort, she's familiarity, she’s _home_ in the feel of her form against his.

He’ll apologize in the morning, where Rufus can't hear, and she’ll act like it's any old, ordinary day -- time travel aside -- and when they get back home they’ll go their separate ways. 

Except it happens again. Only this time, it's her bed, in her apartment in San Francisco, that he climbs into. She doesn't blame him or try to push him out because he's exhausted and so is she. She’ll allow him to sleep in comfort, in familiarity, instead of on the hard futon in her guest room.

But he doesn't fall asleep. He turns on his side, the sheets rustling underneath him, and studies her face instead. His beautiful blue eyes are lit by the softness of her bedside lamp as they travel to her bare collarbone and across her body, down to the edge of the sheet draped across her stomach. She wants to fidget and she wonders what he’s thinking but she keeps her eyes on his maybe as a challenge, maybe just _because_. 

He lifts a hand and traces his finger over her cheekbone, down her neck and over her collarbone before dropping his fingertip into the shallow indentation of her clavicle.

She sucks in a breath at the delicate teasing of his fingertip upon her skin, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks as he draws closer and kisses her just as gently.

She sighs into his mouth and opens up to him as he draws her closer. 

_This is how it’s supposed to be_ , she thinks, as their skin meets and her warmth surrounds him.


End file.
